Saturday 6

I know, I'm late updating Brummie Blogs.  I appear to be caught in the hamster wheel of corporate slavery at the moment - I swear my bosses are secretly ingesting Duracell batteries, there's just no stopping them!  Last week I could almost hear my marbles dropping to the floor and see my sanity waving goodbye as it made a run for it, and how the computer and phone didn't get thrown through the window I just don't know (ha, because I didn't have the time to chuck em, that's why!). 

The only time I have to myself these days in between massive bouts of work and the occasional limp attempt at 'domestic chores' (yuk spit) is on the bus.  I never thought I'd be grateful for the two hour commute every day - it gives me a chance to reflect on who I am (i.e. my name) and where I'm supposed to be going.  You have to grab these precious moments while you can!

Sunday 7

Right, I'm back.  Have to admit I barely moved at all yesterday, once I was slumped with the laptop that was pretty much it.  We find that we do that a lot on Saturday - once the hamster wheel of corporate slavery ends my partner and I tend to just sit around like stunned vegetables, our brains caved in and our bodies teetering on the edge of a coma.  One of us will gasp, "What about the shopping?" and the other usually mumbles, "Stuff it, we'll starve." 

Last week was particularly busy for us both so yesterday was slobbier than normal, as in 'don't ask me to move, speak, think or do anything or I'll just crumble into an hysterical heap’.  We did, actually, manage to haul our carcasses round the local supermarket, positively sprinting down the aisles lobbing food in as we went and whingeing the entire time.

Can I just mentioned that, right at this precise moment, as I sit here laptopping, small son is vacuuming the room, asking me to lift my feet.  I'm lounging and he's vaccing - never thought I'd see the day!

CSA UPDATE

My partner rang the CSA (Child Support Agency) last week about the payment he apparently hadn't made in December (he had, they claimed he hadn’t, because they’re incompetent). 

PARTNER: "I'm ringing to see if you've found my December payment yet."
CSA: ""Just a minute, I'll check your records.  Oh yes, the payment that was overdue was received on 23 January."
PARTNER: "So it took almost a month for you to receive the money I paid in December?  How come?"
CSA: "Well, because of the Christmas holidays, processing of payments were delayed and our system automatically flags it up if we don't receive payments in time."
PARTNER: "But my payment was made in time."
CSA: "Yes, but the system didn't recognise that because of the delay over Christmas."
PARTNER: "So, even though I paid on time, you didn't process it until four weeks later."
CSA: "That's correct."
PARTNER: "Meanwhile, you're badgering me saying I didn't pay it even though you knew the processing system was buggered.  So basically you’re telling me your system's crap really, then."
CSA: "All I can do is apologise for the inconvenience."
PARTNER: "And will you be apologising to all the other fathers who made their payments on time but who were made to feel like criminals?"  Silence.  "I thought not."

Still on the subject of incompetent government agencies, on to the tax office.  I received yet another notification recently, informing me that my tax code was changing again.  My circumstances haven't altered much in the last two years and this was the third code change in six months (first they say I've paid too much tax and give me a refund, then they say I owe them money and increase my PAYE).  I rang the tax office to query it. 

The first person I spoke to told me he couldn't check my details because the system was down (eyeball roll and heavy sigh here).  He said he would call me back when it was up and running again (yeah, right).  Five hours later I rang again and spoke to a woman, who said I had two employers - the ones I currently work for, and the recuitment agency I left 8 months ago.  She said she would sort it.

Two hours later, the bloke I first spoke to called back.  "I'm ready to check your details now," he said. 

"Oh, its already being sorted," I told him, "I rang earlier and spoke to someone else." 

"But I said I'd call you back!" he said petulantly. 

"Ah, but people say that all the time and don't," said I. 

"I always do," he snapped. 

"Well I didn't know that," I snapped back. 

"Well I can't check your details now because you've taken the matter out of my hands!"  

Hopefully they'll discover I've been paying too much tax and give me a hefty refund ... I'm not holding my breath.

Thursday 11

This morning the bus suddenly stops, the driver turns off his engine and comes storming up the stairs.  He stomped straight to the back seats, where a group of school kids were sat. 

Now bear in mind I have absolutely no sense of smell and, at that time of the morning, not much sense of reality either.  The bus driver yelled, “Do you think its fair doing that on the bus?”  (What? I wondered, doing what?)  “You can’t do wees on the bus.”  (Wees?  As in urinate?  That’s what I thought he said, anyway.)  Turns out the school kids were smoking weed – I just thought the whisps of smoke were the remnants of my unconsciousness. And what the hell are schoolkids doing smoking weed anyway, least of all that time of the morning?  (Smoking fags was the height of rebellion when I was at school, a long, long, long time ago).

(On the subject of smoking, in the silence that was mass unconsciousness on the top deck the other morning, a woman suddenly shouted, “Would you mind not doing that!”  When I turned to see what the commotion was about, she was staring straight at me!  Apparently, the bloke sitting behind me was smoking and she didn’t like it, but she was glaring at me as if I should have said something because I was closest to the perpetrator. Hey, if I can’t smell it, it doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned).

Anyway, on the bus journey home tonight, the bus stops again.  I immediately scan the back seats for anyone smoking weed or peeing on the seats.  Nobody moves.  There’s complete silence.  Then a passenger stands up and gets off.  Then everyone stands up and gets off.  Not wanting to be left behind on my own when something was obviously happening, I got off too.  The bus driver was sitting motionless in his cabin, apparently having alerted everyone to the fact that the bus has broken down by a process of telepathy.  Another bus pulled up behind and there’s a mad dash as 300 people race to get on.  Of course, there’s no seats left and barely any standing room by the time I fight my way on board.

Its days like this I find myself asking the Big Question – “Why?  Why do I do this?”  And then I remember … because the alternative is poverty.

Tuesday 16

Well its been a hectic few days (when is it never?) – hence the need to ‘blog in bulk’ this month. 

I had to leave work yesterday with one of those migraines that refused to be swayed by heavy medication (which turns me into a complete zombie, but nobody ever notices the difference).  The zig-zag vision wouldn’t budge, and when I couldn’t remember how to open up a new Word document I thought I’d better make a hasty exit before the brain cells completely gave up the ghost. 

I was offered a taxi home but, incapable of logical thought by this time, I jumped on a bus instead.  Had to get off it a couple of miles before my stop because I thought I was going to throw up all over the woman sitting in front of me.  Rang small son, "Can you pick me up?  Can you come now?”  He said yes to both – not sure what he did then, showered, tidied the house, read War & Peace, but he eventually roared up in his car. 

If I thought I felt sick on the bus it was nothing to being a passenger in his car – I’m not saying he drives fast, but the g-force pressed my already churning stomach against my spine like soft chewing gum, and I swear I could actually feel my earlobes with my lips. 

Got home and slipped into a coma.

My dad has finally got a date for his heart operation to replace two faulty valves – this Monday.  He seems really optimistic – I think the waiting has been worse for him than anything else.  He’s a professional gardener, which keeps him fit and healthy, and he doesn’t smoke or drink, so I think everything will be fine (I’ll still be chewing my fingertips down to stubs on the day).

And finally ...

My partner and I got hold of some 'cheap cigarettes’ the other week.  We suspect they were cheap because they were so old - its like smoking straw.  My partner kept saying, "When these are finished, I'm giving up."  "Me too," I said.  Well, last Thursday he finished his last packet and gave up.  Just like that.  Nerves of steel.  Unlike my gossamer-like willpower.  Needless to say, I'm still smoking (though not in front of my partner).  He's eating for England and has already gained weight (which he can easily lose again, he's that sort), but at least he's not smoking and is planning to buy a new car with the money he saves.  I'm in awe and hugely envious.

Two years ago a friend bought me a book, 'Alan Carr's Easy Way to Give Up Smoking' which has stood, untouched, since then.  I've now blown the dust off it and started reading it on the bus (with big bold chapter titles like 'The Sinister Trap', 'Brainwashing and the Sleeping Partner' and 'Self-imposed Slavery' on full display - God knows what the other passengers must think).  I've been reading it for four days now (the time it takes to ready a whole book normally) and have reached page 4.  I'm hoping the upcoming Budget will increase my determination.

Monday 22

Its been a strange weekend – actually, its been like the Twilight Zone.  Worrying about my dad, who went into hospital yesterday for an operation to replace two heart valves.  Popped in to see him before he went and he seemed in high spirits – he’s such a funny, gentle man.  His operation started at 8am this morning and we’re to phone at lunchtime to see how it went, then hopefully we can go and see him (although he won’t be awake). 

My brain keeps telling me that this isn’t really happening, it must be someone else’s life but, of course, it is happening and this is my life and my lovely dad really is in hospital having a heart operation.  It’s truly awful. 
My sister came to my house at the crack of dawn this morning, having finished a night shift on the maternity ward (she’s a midwife).  She’s asleep on my sofa at the moment, but there’s still a kind of heavy, tense, oh-my-god atmosphere.  It's very surreal.

Friday 26

Quite frankly, its been a hell of a week and my sense of humour has completely deserted me, along with most of my sanity and every molecule of energy I ever possessed.  Monday, when my dad had his heart operation, was the longest day of my life.  He was in surgery longer than expected, 6½ hours, because of complications (he has a strange heart, apparently).  That one day passed like an entire week, at the end I felt like I'd been hit by a truck.  It took him three days to wake up and we were all desperately worried.  Dad is progressing slowly and we're all wearing ourselves ragged visiting him, but the best day will be when he comes home and everything returns to normal.

UPDATE: I'm not saying I'm feeling a little pessimistic right now, but I've just had a packet of crisps for lunch and there was a blue package inside - I was afraid to open it in case it said I owed it something!  I actually won a free packet of crisps, so I'm taking it as a sign that my luck is about to change ...